


Stained Hands

by Masu_Trout



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Flowers, Parenthood, Pre-Canon, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7220968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/pseuds/Masu_Trout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"This is a special place. Don't ask me what it is, but for some reason plants can grow here.” Aerith's lips quirked into a bitter little grin. “Don't get me wrong, it's not easy. I lose more seedlings than not. But it's possible, and that's enough for me.”</i>
</p><p>Barret, short on gil and down on his luck, goes looking for work. He finds a strange (and intriguing) woman instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stained Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I've desperately been wanting more of this lovely rarepair in the world, so I finally decided to buckle up and write it myself! I hope you enjoy the result.

Midgar was a slow sort of torture, an unceasing mechanical hell that chewed good, honest people up and spat them out minus any sort of compassion or care. Barret had only been here a month and already he could feel it happening to him.

People here didn't have much work for a scarred man with a thick accent and a missing arm, and the kind they would give him—killing monsters out in the edges of the slums, guarding buildings while things he didn't even want to know about went on inside—didn't pay worth shit. 

On his own, that would be fine. Barret wasn't the sort of spoiled little asshole who couldn't deal with work, couldn't handle the thought of working his way up; Corel's mines had taught him how to survive in the darkness and the thick choking air of this unnatural city. He was more than willing to eat the thin gruel that merchants on the street would trade for a few gil and to sleep wherever he could find a bit of safety.

Barret couldn't afford to live that way now, though. Not when Marlene was counting on him. 

Every day she looked more and more like her parents. She had her mother's bright smile, the one that had made Dyne fall head-over-heels in love, and her father's piercing dark eyes and intense stare.

He shouldn't have brought her. Even before he'd stepped into Midgar, he'd known it was a stupid idea. A sweet little girl like her deserved better than a beat-up, bitter old failure of a man as her guardian. But… from the moment he'd seen her, small and wailing and covered in ash, lying in the wreckage of his best friend's house, he'd fallen in love.

Marlene was the last thing he had left of his home. It was selfish and stupid, but he couldn't bear the thought of giving her away.

Right now, she was curled up in the crook of his gun-arm, her face nestled against his chest as she slept. It was mid-morning, but with Midgar the way it was something like that hardly mattered. She napped when she liked, and Barret certainly wasn't going to stop her.

Carefully, quietly, he reached over with his good hand and ran a finger through her hair. She scrunched up her nose at that, burrowing deeper into his arm without waking up even a little, and Barret couldn't help but laugh.

Marlene was a good kid.

She was just over a year old now, clothed in a dress that was more like rags, getting bigger every day but still far too tiny for a girl her age. She hardly ever cried, even when she deserved to, and she was already walking and talking at a level far beyond her age.

Barret rented a room in a shitty little hovel in Sector Five because a growing kid needed a place to call home, and he bought the best food he could afford because she needed something more than mash to fill her stomach. It wasn't enough, though, could never be enough. Barret needed two things in his life, each of them intertwined and inseparable: to bring down Shinra and to give Marlene the future she deserved.

He couldn't do either of those without money, though. And that meant he was going to have to make some decisions.

Barret slid his key into the lock of the rickety wooden door and pushed it open, then threw it shut as quickly as he could. Their home, if it could be called that, was hardly bigger than a closet: a single bed sat in one corner, a refrigerator that only worked a quarter of the time squatted in another, and a sink and toilet cordoned off with a piece of plywood finished the picture. Nothing made him quite so nostalgic for Corel as this cramped little shithole—he'd spent time in collapsed mining tunnels roomier than this.

Marlene blinked her eyes open into a fuzzy sort of awareness, looking around at the familiar surroundings. “Lunch?”

“No, sweetheart, not yet.” Barret laid Marlene down on a corner of the bed, wrapping a tattered blanket around her shoulders. “Go back to sleep, 'kay? I'm gonna go out for a bit, and when I come back it'll be time for lunch.”

Marlene nodded, a yawn pulling at the corner of her mouth, and snuggled back down into the bed.

It felt horribly wrong just to leave Marlene alone in a place like this, with only an easily-broken lock between her and all sorts of vile people. It wasn't like he had much of a choice, though. They were out of food and almost out of gil.

There were people in the slums who'd taken note of his prosthetic and his muscle and made him… certain kinds of job offers. He'd refused, of course; he'd come to this city to strike back at Shinra, not to hurt people who were just trying to get by. Barret was stubborn, proud, and foolish, and he knew it better than anyone.

Honor might feel good, but it didn't put food into the mouth of a slowly-starving girl. Barret was going to find the people he'd turned down before and see if they might still take him in.

With one last lingering look towards Marlene, he slipped out the door.

\---

Sector Five was a fucking maze. Bad enough that people built their shacks without any regard to making streets or even letting people walk around them without having to take a half-hour detour, but the piles of trash left tottering every ten paces—some of them eight or nine feet high and reeking of rot and putridity—made it almost impossible to walk in a straight line for more than five minutes at a time. Barret had meant to head in the direction of Sector Six, but now he couldn't even be sure he was anywhere close. For all he knew, he might be walking in circles.

“Damn it,” Barret snarled, kicking at a loose piece of trash as he passed yet another near-identical pile. 

He could hear the vague sounds of scurrying feet echo around him as monsters and humans alike dug through the piles of refuse. He kept his gun-arm's safety off as he made his way through the maze of waste; no telling whether one of them might suddenly decide he made a better treat than whatever rotten shit they were rummaging for.

Wouldn't that be one helluva way to go? Survive Shinra's attack, only to fall to a half-wit burglar under this miserable plate?

As Barret turned the next corner, though, he could immediately tell he wasn't going in circles. Instead of more piles of trash, a battered but still-standing building rose from the rocky Midgar ground. It was a surprisingly beautiful place, as dilapidated as it was; he could see a couple of multicolored windows still set in their frames and a pair of sturdy doors made of what almost could be real wood. (Admittedly, the usefulness of the doors was kinda offset by the gaping holes in the roof, but no place could be perfect.)

He paused. He knew he needed to be heading towards Wall Market, but the temptation to check out the old building was growing stronger by the second. He doubted he'd be able to move Marlene in here, nice as the thought was—there was no way a place this banged-up and open would be safe for her—but there might be some looting to be done. 

_It's a stupid idea,_ Barret told himself. _No way this place isn't owned by some kinda gangster bigwig with gun-toting guards at every entrance. No point in getting myself shot just to look at an old house_.

And yet. It was _interesting_. There weren't too many truly interesting things under Midgar's plate; they all got driven out by the smog or destroyed.

Barret sighed, swinging his gun-arm as he thought. “I'm gonna regret this,” he snarled to himself. 

And, with that, he turned towards the building.

\---

Surprisingly enough, Barret didn't get shot on his way towards the building. In fact, he didn't see anyone guarding the place at all.

The inside of the old building was, if anything, even stranger than the outside. Rather than having rooms or halls or anything sensible, the building was made of one big room lined with rows and rows of benches. 

Something religious, maybe? Barret had heard about the once-popular religions of Midgar once or twice, and he thought benches and fancy glass windows might have been mentioned.

Still. By now, he would've expected anything made with that much wood to be stolen and sold or scrapped. _Someone_ had to be guarding this place; the fact that it hadn't been looted a dozen times over already was proof enough of that.

As Barret took another step forward, he heard a sudden, startled noise from the front of the massive room. He snapped his gun-arm up, ready to defend himself—and froze at the sight of the frightened young woman staring back at him.

The woman couldn't be older than eighteen or nineteen; her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and her dress and her hands alike were stained brown with mud. More streaks of dirt decorated her arms and cheeks in long, smudged trails. She looked at him, her muscles tensed and her hand frozen halfway toward reaching for a wooden staff strapped to her back. 

With a start, Barret realized just how he must look to her: a massive, scowling man with a faded tattoo on one shoulder and a weapon welded to his scarred stump of an arm. She probably thought he was a mugger or a murderer or worse.

“Hey, I'm sorry,” he said. He carefully pointed his gun-arm towards the ground and lifted his good arm up in a gesture of surrender. “I didn't mean'ta scare you. I just got curious about this place, is all—didn't realize anyone was gonna be in here.”

The woman stared at him suspiciously for a few more seconds before lowering her hand. 

“Well then,” she said, “I suppose it can't be helped! I'm sure I surprised you too.” With that, the tension fled her body and a sunny grin stretched across her face. It was like a switch had flipped somewhere in her brain.

Barret wasn't quite sure how anyone this cheerful managed to survive in Midgar, but he wasn't about to check a gift chocobo's crest; a friendly face was a rare thing in this city. 

“Most people try to avoid this place,” she added, her voice dropping to a near-whisper and her smile turning into something more secretive, “because of all the rumors about it. You must be pretty new to Sector Five if you didn't know.”

“The rumors?” He couldn't help but glance left and right, as if some strange monster might come jumping at him from behind one of the benches.

The woman nodded. “Word on the street has it the Turks like to hang around this place. People have seen all sorts of weirdos in dark suits coming in and out at odd times.”

 _The Turks_. Barret scowled. Just the name sent a mixture of fear and anger twisting through his veins. Shinra's favorite pet monsters, and some of their most effective. 

The thought of meeting one face-to-face was almost tempting; he'd give anything to strangle one of those assholes or blow their brains out with a well-timed bullet. But he wasn't stupid enough to think he could survive an encounter like that. Everyone knew Turks traveled in packs. 

“Wait,” Barret asked, “you know the Turks come here and you _still_ spend time in this place?” He was wary enough of them and he had a machine gun. A young woman with only a short-range weapon wasn't going to find herself coming out on top if they decided to try anything.

She laughed. “I've even seen them here before, believe it or not! They mostly don't bother me so long as I stay clear of them. And it's worth being around the Turks in order to spend time here.” She waved one hand as she spoke, encompassing the whole of the dilapidated building.

“You religious, then?” He couldn't think of any other reason someone would willingly hang around in the vicinity of Turks.

The woman shook her head. “No, no! Nothing like that. Or, not the way you're thinking, at least. Actually”—she paused for a moment, sizing him up—“I get the feeling I can trust you, Mister…”

“Uh, Wallace. Barret Wallace. You can call me Barret, though.” Maybe it wasn't the best idea to tell her anything, but he was too startled by her cheer not to answer truthfully. It was almost like he was back in Corel, instead of stuck in the middle of a city where people would sooner step on someone than help them up.

“Barret.” She beamed at him. “My name's Aerith. Would you like to see something interesting?”

 _Interesting_ could mean a whole lotta things, most of them bad. Still, Barret found himself nodding. There was something magnetic about this Aerith. She was impossible to ignore.

( _Maybe_ , he thought for a moment, _she's a Turk too. Maybe they've been looking for me. Maybe she's luring me in._ But no, that was impossible; surely murderers like them couldn't act so genuinely kind.)

She stepped forward and took his gun-arm in hand, not even flinching at the feel of cool metal, then pulled him forward towards the back of the building. All of the benches faced this area, and a ragged hole in the roof let a thin gleam of something that looked almost like sunlight through.

“We're close to the edge of Midgar,” she said, noticing his curious stare. “I don't really get how it works, but sometimes sunlight from the outside reflects off the plate and ends up here. My mother says it's not as good as actual light, but it's enough for what I want to do.”

Barret stepped forward, desperate to feel the sunlight, weak and thin as it was, on his skin. But as he walked closer, he suddenly realized what the light was shining _on_. All other thoughts fled his mind as he gaped at the impossible sight.

There were flowers here. Actual, real flowers, golden-petaled and delicate, their leaves rustling slightly despite the lack of a breeze. Aerith had been tending to them, if the imprints of feet in the soil and watering can laying nearby were any indication.

It was a complete impossibility and all the more beautiful for it; he would have been less shocked and less overjoyed if she'd brought him to a chest overflowing with gil.

Aerith smiled happily at the dumbstruck look on his face. “I thought you might appreciate them! Most Midgar natives don't really like them like I do.”

“How?” he asked. “I mean, Midgar is…” He swept his good arm out, trying to encompass everything vile about the city: the piles of refuse and junk littering the streets, the thick smog that hung in the air, the oil and waste that seeped into the dirt, the ceaseless hum of the reactors that towered over them all. “Just sunlight can't possibly be enough to grow something here.”

For a moment, Aerith's gaze went distant and tight; she looked almost sad. “I told you there was a reason I came here, even with the Turks around. This place is a special place. Don't ask me what it is, but for some reason plants can grow here.” Her lips quirked into a bitter little grin. “Don't get me wrong, it's not _easy_. I lose more seedlings than not. But it's possible, and that's enough for me.”

“Huh,” Barret said. He'd never been religious, wouldn't even know the rituals to use, but the sight of the flowers here almost made him want to bow down and say a little prayer. Clearly _something_ was watching over this place.

He couldn't tear his gaze away from the flowers. It had been so long since he'd seen anything green that wasn't made of plastic. Even the fruits and vegetables were spotted brown and near-rotten by the time they made it down under the plate; people had to smother them with sauce just to make them edible.

Damn, but he wanted to take one of them so badly.

Aerith looked between him and the flowers, something knowing in her eyes. “Would you like to buy one?”

“ _Buy_ one?” Barret sputtered. “I couldn't, I mean…” There was no way he'd be able to afford a rarity like these.

She laughed, covering her mouth with one hand. “The look on your face! Don't worry, I'm not trying to scam you or anything. They're only one gil.”

Barret scowled at her. He was quite often an asshole, sure, but he wasn't so much of one that he'd take charity from a woman who clearly had little more to her name than he did. A price like that would be a joke for a moldy apple, let alone a fresh, beautiful flower. “That's kind of you, but I can get by on my own.”

“Honestly. _Men_.” Aerith rolled her eyes. “You're all so stubborn, you know that? I'm not giving you a bargain—that's my normal price.”

“You don't have to lie to me. I'm not stupid.” He'd buy that story the moment he started believing Shinra's propaganda about mako being a clean and healthy source of energy.

“I'm not lying to you. You think Midgar understands the value of a fresh flower? You can't eat them, they go bad after only a few days… people here only buy them as cheap trinkets or to impress someone they're trying to woo. I have to sell them this cheap, otherwise they go brown faster than I can get rid of them.”

He desperately wanted to think she was lying—how pathetic was this city, if people had even forgotten how to miss the natural world?—but her words and her voice rung true. He put his good hand in his pocket, feeling for the few loose coins there. Perhaps as a gift for Marlene… 

Fifteen gil. Barret swallowed, feeling sick to his stomach. Fifteen gil was all he had left. That wouldn't be enough to buy her even a half-decent meal.

He shook his head, trying not to show his disappointment and shame. “I'm sorry. I really can't.”

Aerith frowned and stepped forward to look into his eyes. “Are you okay, Barret? You look so sad.”

“It's nothing.” His voice came out thick and even raspier than usual. “It's nothing.” Perhaps if he repeated himself, the words would become true.

“ _Right_.” She crossed her arms across her chest, looking up at him with a dry, skeptical expression. “And I'm the president of Shinra.”

 _If you were, I'd shoot you dead right here_ , Barret thought but didn't say. No reason to scare the first person who'd been truly friendly to him in this city.

“It really is nothing.” He scowled, trying to seem intimidating, but she just matched his look stare for stare. Finally, he sighed. There was no saying no to this woman, it seemed. She reminded him of Myrna in that regard. “I'm running short on cash is all. I don't have any gil to spare if I want to get my daughter something to eat for lunch.”

He wasn't expecting the excited look that spread across Aerith's face. “You have a daughter? That's wonderful!”

Barret nodded, unable to resist grinning back at her a little. It seemed her moods were contagious. “Name's Marlene. She's a little over a year old now. She's just the most amazing girl; you wouldn't believe how smart she is. Kid's always asking me questions about everything she sees...” He cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with his good arm. “Sorry. I know you don't need to hear me ramble on about my kid forever.”

“No, no!” Aerith shook her head. “I love hearing about children. Your daughter sounds wonderful.” She smiled. “And I bet she's the spitting image of her daddy.”

“Ah.” Barret's breath caught in his throat. “Not… not really, no.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. I said something wrong, didn't I?” Her eyes were full of concern. “I promise I didn't mean anything by it.”

“Don't worry 'bout it,” Barret said. Wasn't her fault she didn't know, wasn't her fault he still couldn't think about that day without wanting to curl up into a ball and sob for a while. “It's nothing you said. It's just that, uh. I'm not her real dad—I took her in because her parents got murdered by Shinra.” He couldn't keep the vicious growl out of his voice when he said the company's name. 

She only watched him for a moment after he spoke, her eyes dark and inscrutable. “I see. Wait here a moment, would you?” she finally asked, and turned to walk towards the back of the church.

“Wha'?” Barret asked, blinking in confusion at her sudden exit. “Where are you going?”

Aerith, already standing at a hole leading towards the back of the building, turned a moment to smile at him. “Just trust me, okay?” 

And with that, she disappeared through the doorway.

For a minute or two, it was all he could do to stare at the place she'd left through. Had he offended her somehow? A woman who loved flowers as much as she did surely wouldn't throw her lot in with Shinra, but maybe her parents worked for the company? Or maybe she had a husband or a boyfriend or a lover who did?

Maybe, he thought, a sudden chill running down his spine, she'd heard the rage in his voice and realized that an anger like his could only be personal. She could be heading off to a Shinra office right now, checking to see whether there was a bounty on his head. Wasn't like he'd be hard to find in their database: six-foot-five, Corel accent, dark skin, tattoo on his shoulder… even without the gun on his arm, he was pretty damn distinctive.

He wouldn't even be able to hold it against her, really. There wasn't any room for mercy in a city like Midgar.

He knew he should run, take this chance and get the hell out of here. If he waited until she came back it might be too late.

But… Aerith had told him to trust her. She'd shown him the flowers, she'd talked to him like a friend instead of a threat or a potential asset, and then she'd asked him to wait.

Barret couldn't afford to trust anyone. He carried that lesson in his heart and the scar tissue of his arm. He wanted to trust Aerith, though. It was maybe the stupidest thing he'd ever thought, but he wanted to believe she might be different.

He raged against his own idiocy, cursing himself in his mind and occasionally out loud. Twice, three times, he decided to leave. But his feet stayed firmly planted in the rich soil of the flowerbed.

Finally, after almost fifteen minutes, Aerith returned. _Alone_ , Barret noted with a rush of relief that nearly drove the strength from his legs.

(Not that it meant he was safe. There might be bounty hunters or Turks in hiding, waiting to strike. But it was still a start.)

She clutched a brown basket in her arms. It looked almost like the picnic baskets he and Myrna had taken on dates a long time ago. Whatever was in it, it was heavy enough that Aerith's arms were straining slightly as she walked forward.

When she reached the edge of the flowerbed, she set the basket down at her feet. “Oh, good,” she said happily. “I was worried you might get bored waiting for me to come back.”

He'd felt a lot of emotions while he was waiting. Boredom was not one of them.

Barret laughed, a touch nervously. “Well, you know. Figured I better let you take your time and see what you were up to.”

“Oh, that's a _terrible_ idea,” Aerith said. A mischievous grin curled its way across her face. “My mother will tell you that I'm never up to any good.”

She leaned down, planting her knees in the soil, as she reached for a few of the flowers closest to her. A thin blade appeared in her palm from somewhere—Barret truly had no idea where she'd been storing it—and she snipped their stems with practiced hands.

“There,” she said with satisfaction. She blew the dirt off their petals and then set them on top of the basket. “That ought to do you. Make sure you run their stems under cold water before you put them in a vase.”

“Eh?” Barret asked. “I told you, I can't pay for that.” 

“And _I_ ”—Aerith jabbed a finger up at him, fixing him with a glare—“am telling you that you don't have to. Meeting someone who actually appreciates plants is payment enough.”

“I'm not a charity case,” he snapped. He didn't want to snarl at her, but the thought of owing Aerith—no, of taking something she might need to her help herself—sat wrong. Just the thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

“It's for Marlene,” she said, and something about the tone of her voice shut him up immediately. “I can give a kid a present if I want, can't I?”

“I mean, _yeah,_ but…” Marlene was his kid. His responsibility. Letting himself rely on anyone else was an easy way to get them both killed. “You've got no reason to do anything for someone you've never met.”

Aerith pressed her hands against her face, the movement leaving two more symmetrical streaks of dirt across her cheeks. “It's hard, losing a parent. I…” She paused, sighed. “The mother I have now is my _real_ mother, don't get me wrong. I love her more than anything. But she's not the only mother I've had. My first mother”—Aerith swallowed—“was killed by Shinra. I still miss her a lot.”

Oh. Oh shit. Guilt stabbed through Barret's gut. He dropped to his own knees in the soft, damp soil, feeling the moisture soak through the worn fabric of his pants almost immediately. “Damn. Aerith, I'm sorry. I didn't know.” No, that was no kind of excuse. “I wasn't thinking.”

“No, I'm the one who should be sorry.” Aerith's eyes looked a little moist and her smile was a bit wobbly, but at least she didn't seem angry with him. “It happened a long time ago. I barely even think about it anymore. And you lost your friends only a little while ago, didn't you? You must still be hurting, and yet you're the one comforting me.”

That hardly seemed like anything to apologize for, in his eyes, but the last thing he wanted to do was argue with her more. Instead he just shrugged, a bit awkward, and got a quiet laugh from her in return.

“Anyway,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, “I wanted to give this to you. It's just a little something for Marlene.” 

Barret took the handles of the basket with his good hand, curiosity rearing at him. “Should I open it now?”

“Ah, I see how it is.” Aerith grinned at him, an impish look in her eyes. “You're the sort who can never wait to open his presents, aren't you? I bet you always found your birthday gifts before they were even wrapped.”

Shit. She was good. Barret tried not to let the guilt show on his face.

“Well?” Aerith asked. “Go ahead.”

“I thought you said—”

“I never said it was _bad_ to be that way.”

Barret glowered at her, making sure she could see his sour expression. He pulled the lid of the basket open, careful not to disturb the flowers that lay across the top.

Books, three or four of them, brightly colored and perfect for a young child. Packages of dried, salted meat, hard candies, and rolls of flat bread, the sort of food that wouldn't spoil easily. And—Barret's breath caught in his chest—laying among the rest of the food, wrapped in paper or in small containers, was fresh fruit. He could see a handful of bright red berries, a pair of apples so ripe they gleamed, even some he didn't recognize. His mouth watered at just the sight of it.

“Aerith,” he said. He shook his head frantically. “Aerith, I _can't_ —”

She put her hands on her hips. “Are we going to have to go through this again?”

“This is too much. You know this is too much.”

“Shouldn't I be the one to decide that? Look,” she said, pointing down into the basket, “most of it's just things I used as a kid or food we had lying around the house. It's nothing special.”

“The _fruit_?”

“Well.” Aerith's cheeks went a bit pink. “Let's just say this isn't the only place in the church where things grow, okay? Consider the fruit a bribe for keeping that a secret.”

Barret's mouth went dry. “That's a hell of a thing you're trusting me with, Aerith.” Flowers might not sell for much in Midgar, where everything had to have a use in order to have value, but fruit was a different story. Turks or no Turks, there were people who'd fight and kill for a place in the city where food would grow naturally.

She nodded. “It is. I think I can trust you, though.”

Shit. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he thought of all the people in his life he'd failed so far. Hopefully she wouldn't come to regret letting him know these things.

Well, that was up to him, wasn't it? He'd have to make sure he didn't fail her.

“You sure there's no other kid you want to give this to?” he asked, just to make sure. He couldn't stop looking into the basket, thinking about how Marlene would react to each bit of food inside.

Aerith snorted. “I'm not planning on popping out a baby anytime soon, if that's what you're asking. With my life the way it is, that wouldn't be a good idea.” Her expression turned dark and distant, a sudden cloud of sorrow sweeping across her face, but before Barret could think of anything to say to that she'd already brightened again. “And besides, I'm pretty sure my boyfriend pulled a runner on me. Says he's got a week-long job he's gotta go off on, and next thing I know he hasn't visited in months. The way my luck goes, he probably found himself some pretty above-plate girl to dote on or something.”

“You let me know what he looks like, and if I ever see him I'll pound his face in,” Barret promised. He meant it, too; breaking up like a woman like her without so much as a phone call was the kind of assholery he couldn't forgive.

At that, Aerith put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile. “That's sweet of you,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes in an over-exaggerated, teasing sort of way, “but I don't think that's a fight you'd win.”

“What was he, six-foot-nine?” People very, _very_ rarely bet against Barret in fights, especially these days. The ones who did quickly learned not to do it again.

Well, whatever. Maybe the rose-tinted glow of the relationship was still lingering in Aerith's eyes, even months after he'd left her. It was hard to get over people, especially when they left your life as suddenly as that.

A beep from his PHS told Barret what he didn't want to know: it was already almost noon. If he left Marlene for much longer, she'd start getting restless. She was a smart kid and she knew all about the danger that lay outside their little apartment, but even that would only hold back a child's natural curiosity for so long.

“Shit,” he said, “I'm sorry, I really gotta go. I can't leave Marlene alone for too much longer.”

“Don't worry about it,” Aerith said. “I'd think less of you if you didn't want to get back to her. And anyway”—she took a quick glance around the room—“I shouldn't stay here for too much longer. Don't want to take any risks with the Turks.

“Makes sense.” He stood, brushed as much of the dirt as he could off his knees. “Aerith. Thank you. For everything.”

That seemed a comically, insultingly underwhelming thing to say. She'd given him food—real, healthy food. She'd talked to him about Marlene, when so few people would even look him in the eye. She'd smiled at him like she meant it.

Aerith followed him up, not even bothering to wipe any of the dirt off of her clothing; clearly she was used to it. For a moment she just stood there, looking up at him, and then suddenly she was moving.

Before Barret could react, she'd pressed herself up against him, standing as tall on her toes as she could manage so that her mouth would reach his chin. She kissed him, then, her lips pressing against the stubble on his cheek. The warmth and the softness of them felt more like petals than skin, as if one of the church's delicate flowers had come to life to brush against him. The very idea that this could actually be happening seemed almost ridiculous.

One of her hands rested on his gun arm, just above the spot where flesh met metal. The scars there were sensitive as anything; he could feel every callus on her finger pads, the places where she'd worn the skin tough planting flowers or practicing with that staff of hers.

It lasted a moment and an hour at the same time. Too soon, far too soon, she dropped back down to her normal height and took a step back. The dirt on her cheeks was smudged in a few places; he could only imagine he was wearing matching streaks across his beard stubble now. It was all he could do to stop himself from reaching up and checking.

Aerith's expression was guarded and her hands were pressed tight against her sides. She seemed almost nervous. Barret wanted to laugh. Was she afraid he might react badly? As if he could be disappointed with a kiss from a woman as beautiful as her.

“Barret,” she said, and her voice was barely more than a whisper, full to bursting with a quiet sort of hope, “you should come by again sometime, okay? I'd love to meet Marlene.”

“Okay,” he said. He swallowed once, twice, trying to clear the raspiness from his suddenly dry throat. “Yeah. Okay. I'll do that.”

He took one step back, then another, clutching the basket in his good hand, half-expecting Aerith to do or say something more. But the expression on her face was as innocent as it had ever been, nothing at all like the one she'd worn only moments before. Finally, after another few moments of sheer dumbfoundedness, he turned and began to walk properly towards the church's door.

She called out to him once more, just as he was about to step back out into the gloom of Sector Five. “It was nice meeting you, Barret.”

He turned to look back at her, a bright pink spot illuminated by the reflected sunlight. “It was nice meeting you too,” he said, and then he stepped out the door.

Barret clutched the basket as tightly as he could as he made his way back home, unable to tear his eyes away from the flowers. Some part of him was still desperately terrified that they might disappear if he looked away for even a moment; perhaps he'd hit his head while walking under a pile of rubbish. Maybe this was just some crazy delusion he'd dreamed up out of loneliness and a pathetic desire for companionship.

He didn't know what he was going to do from now one, but one thing was for sure—he wasn't about to take any of those seedy jobs the Wall Market slumlords had offered him. He'd find work elsewhere, somewhere he could get an honest day's pay no matter how meager it was. Hell, maybe he could find some work as a bouncer.

Barret wanted to be a father Marlene could be proud of. 

He wanted to be someone worthy of being looked at the way Aerith had looked at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Gratitude where gratitude is due: there's a group of fantastic people who helped me edit this fic and make it what it is. I can't express just how helpful their betaing efforts were. ♥ If you're reading this, thank you again!


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